Page 51 of Just Bromantically Invested

He injured himself the next season.

I’m still unsure if that was completely by accident or if Madden had self-sabotaged.

Ever since then, he’s been out and gay, so maybe he doesn’t understand where I’m coming from. Is he freaking out that his straight friend hit on him? Is that what this is?

If that’s the case, it’s a very easy conversation to get out of the way.Hey, Mads, pretty confident I’m not straight, and if you’re on board, I’d like to try kissing you this time, thanks.Or touching him in general.

I really fucked that chance up.

It gets stifling under the covers, so I push them down again and let the cool air in my room rush over my face. My cheeks are sticky with old tears. My bones feel heavy.

And when I reach for my phone, hoping to find something there, I’m sorely disappointed. Madden hasn’t reached out.

I open our messages, thumbs typing out and deleting a variety of messages, from “Are you okay?” to “Please talk to me” to “I can’t believe you left like that.” None of those is the vibe I’m looking for, but there aren’t many ways to say “I’m hurt and confused by the way you ditched me, and it’s ruined my potential coming out moment.” If that’s even what’s happening here.

That’s a lot to put on him.

This whole thing is.

Lana would be at work by now too, so I can’t call her, and here I am back to square one. No friends. No one to talk to. Head, heart, and gut all being pulled in different directions.

I switch my phone to airplane mode and back again, but it doesn’t miraculously make messages appear. I’ve disappeared for almost an entire day, and there’s no single person who’s noticed. No one to check in on me, no one who cares.

That’s a dark thing to realize.

Madden’s all I have.

And I ruined it.

I crawl into the shower and let myself cry.

I’m craving company,so I go out. It would have been easy to see if Lana wanted to catch up, but I don’t need her judgment over making a move on Madden only to have it blow up in my face. She won’t have nice things to say about him, and I refuse to hear it.

Instead of going to my usual club, I do something I’ve never done before.

I google the nearest gay bar and head there instead.

I’m breaking out in a cold sweat while I wait in line, sure someone is going to call me out. Make it clear I don’t belong here.

The thing is though, I’m not sure that I do. I got off with my best friend one time. If the rumors are true, straight guys do that sort of thing all the time in college. I didn’t, but I did kiss a guy friend in high school as a dare, and I’d avoided him for the rest of the year.

I’d avoided him because Ilikedit.

The shame and embarrassment from that kiss comes back, and all these feelings I’m having for Madden are making it all make sense. I’m connecting the dots in a way I never have before: the dry mouth, the sweaty palms, how I’d spot him down the end of the corridor, and every time, it felt like I was being hit by a sickening punch to the gut. Not shame like I thought. Fear. I’d been attracted to him. Not uncomfortable.Toocomfortable.

I want to figure myself out.

I hand over my ID and am waved inside without incident.As soon as I make it into the hall, the heavy thump of the music surrounds me, and I force myself to keep moving. It would be too easy to turn and run away, but I’m fucking doing this.

If Madden can’t be here for me, I’ll be here for my fucking self.

Before I step out into the club area, I fill my lungs with a long inhale, then give myself over to whatever happens.

It’s bright and loud, just as I expected, but the main difference to where I usually go is that the majority of the people on the dance floor are men. There are a mix of people sitting around drinking and two women making out by the bar that I’m walking toward. I find an empty stool and order a drink, then watch the scene behind me in the mirror above the line of alcohol bottles.

People dancing, people making out, laughing, arguing, talking. A whole eclectic bunch. I watch for so long the bartender offers me another drink, and I take it. There are three guys on the side of the dance floor closest to me. Two of them have taken off their shirts, and the guy in the middle looks blissed-out. I have no idea where any of their hands are, but one guy is sucking on the middle one’s neck while he shares the filthiest kiss I’ve ever seen with the third.

They’re in their own little bubble, and I’m not entirely unaffected by the sight.

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